


Christmas Wish

by thedevil_andgod



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, First Kiss, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Winter Mystrade Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3153008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevil_andgod/pseuds/thedevil_andgod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>gift fic for anglofile.tumblr.com</p>
    </blockquote>





	Christmas Wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anglofile.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=anglofile.tumblr.com).



> gift fic for anglofile.tumblr.com

The frozen ground outside reflected the moon in the sky, watery beams of light shining down from the deep blue velvet canvas, dotted through with silver embroidered stars.  
Mycroft sighed, leaning his head against the cool leather of the back seat of the car, numerous things running through his mind at once.  
Across the way, Anthea glanced up from her phone, frowning slightly in concern.  
'Is everything alright, sir?' She asked carefully. Mycroft pulled a tired smile onto his face and nodded slowly.  
'Of course. I am merely a little weary, it has, after all, been a long day.' He replied smoothly, and the beautiful woman opposite him relaxed again. He felt slightly sad for her, knowing that such a gorgeous girl would probably have her pick of the boys and girls in any sort of London club, should she lead a normal life - but working for the government didn't leave a lot of room for socialising, let alone pursuing any type of romantic endeavour. He also felt grateful, she was a diligent worker, clever, and lethal at times - definitely not to be underestimated.  
As he thought this, the image of another attractive, intelligent man floated to the forefront of his mind - one Gregory Lestrade, head Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard, and babysitter for Mycroft's mischievious, troubled younger brother, Sherlock. If it hadn't been for Gregory, Sherlock would most likely be dead by now from a drug overdose. It was the DI who had made a deal with the youngest Holmes - quit the drugs, and you can work on any case that comes in to us.  
A treat too delectable for the aspiring consultant detective to waste.  
Delectable.. also a suitable description for the Detective Inspector, Mycroft thought with a wry smile. The car passed down a busy highstreet, fit to burst with the amount of last moment Christmas shoppers and carolers painting the air with harmonies. With eight days to go, Mycroft knew he was a run in for Scrooge the miser, with no decorations up in his large, lonely, dark flat, and the list of presents he wished to obtain were limited, a couple of coldcases for Sherlock, and a novelty jumper for the good Doctor too, as a token of gratitude for putting up with Sherlock for so long, and looking after him when Mycroft was not allowed near his brother.  
Vaguely, he wondered what Lestrade would like as a gift. A nice cologne, perhaps, a good shirt, perhaps a St. Laurent or a Prada.. The red blooded Londoner would most likely prefer a season ticket for a football team, or a case of beer, bitter lager that Mycroft hated. Although, he pondered, it would probably taste so much better off the smooth, full lips of the Detective Inspector.  
Mycroft chided himself, this is no way to think about a man you barely know.  
He sighed again, wistfully, ignoring Anthea's concerned glance.  
The car slowed at a set of traffic lights, and through the window Mycroft spotted a neon sign, lit up in a shop window.  
CHRISTMAS - THE TIME OF YEAR FOR MIRACLES AND WISHES COME TRUE!  
The eldest Holmes knew miracles were the stuff of fairytales, that wishes were not magically granted at any time of the year, and yet he felt a sharp tugging sensation in his chest.  
I wish that Gregory would see me, he thought. Not just the ice cool exterior, but me. Just Mycroft.  
As the car sped up once more, he let the wish disperse into nothing, carefully wiping every last word from his mind.  
After all, wishes don't come true. Not at Christmas, and especially not for Mycroft Holmes.  
\------------------------------------------------------  
A festive tune spun around him, the faint smell of sweat and alcohol lingering in the air.  
Greg relaxed against the kitchen counter, looking around at the small group of attendees.  
He wondered how in the name of Hell had John talked Sherlock into allowing a Christmas party at the flat. He suspected it may have had something to do with John using the you-faked-your-suicide-in-front-of-me-then-let-me-think-you-were-dead-for-two-years card and guilted the young detective into relenting.  
Although said detective was yet to be seen, John had muttered something about him sulking in his room while handing Greg a cold, brown bottle filled with beer, and left it at that.  
A tall, awkward figure in the corner of the sitting room caught Greg's attention, and he couldn't stop his jaw from dropping wide open with shock.  
It couldn't be..  
But it was. Mycroft Holmes, actually socialising, in his brothers house.  
Well, socialising was a bit of a stretch. He was standing still as a statue, features composed and calm but his eyes betrayed him - they were lost, confused and slightly irritated.  
Greg chuckled, clearly, the Government himself was not used to parties.  
He decided to go and put him out of his misery, thinking that, if he was lucky, he might be able to wangle a kiss under the mistletoe. 

'Hello!'  
Mycroft jumped in surprise before turning his intense gaze towards the Detective.  
'Lestrade, nice to see you.' He replied stiffly, cheeks flushing as he noticed how close the tanned, muscled man was.  
'Funny to see you here! I was proper shocked when I noticed ya, standin' here. But a really nice surprise!'  
Mycroft stiffened, had Gregory just admitted he was also happy to see him?  
Nonsense. It was probably the alcohol in the other's bloodstream.  
Mycroft forced a smile. 'Well, John invited me here, and it is quite rude to decline an invitation..I'm not stopping, I simply felt obligated to show my face.'  
Greg felt himself deflate, Mycroft couldn't leave so early!  
'Its barely half eleven!' He protested. 'Here, have a beer.'  
Before Mycroft could politely decline he found a half drunk bottle of Budwiser in his hands. He wrinked his nose after lifting it and taking a sniff. He had never before drank such filth, and was not planning on doing so anytime soon.  
'I had some of it, but there's still a good few swallows left,' Greg grinned cheerfully. 'Well, go on - have a swig! I know its probably not what you're used to, but come on.' He nudged the younger man with his elbow and winked. 'See how us lesser mortals live.'  
The nudge, accompanied by the wink flustered the poor Holmes and without really thinking about what he was doing, he raised the bottle to his lips and took a mouthful.  
Swallowing hard he gave a disgusted yell and shoved the bottle back and eyed Greg suspisciously.  
'Are you trying to poison me?' He curled his lower lip, only half serious.  
The silver haired man laughed. 'So dramatic, Myc.' he shook his head and polished off the rest of the alchol in one large gulp.  
'Myc?' the elder Holmes enquired. Greg flushed a little and rubbed the back of his neck with one large hand.  
'Uh, sorry mate, I just tend to nickname people.. I won't do it again. Sorry.' He glanced away, cursing inwardly. He knew the older Holmes preferred everything formal. Him and his big mouth.  
'I like it.' Mycroft confessed with a small smile. Greg wrenched his head back around, face lit up.  
Mycroft loved that smile. It was big, and toothy, and made Greg's eyes shine. He had such nice eyes. Brown eyes, warm, like molten chocolate.

A shy giggle tore his attention away from the gorgeous man in front of him, and he frowned upon noticing Miss Molly Hooper and Anthea clustered together like schoolgirls across the room, talking behind cupped hands and falling apart with laughter every few seconds.  
Anthea lifted her chin, as though instructing Mycroft to look up.  
As he did, he felt all colour drain from his face. Greg looked upwards too, and bit his lip as he saw the spring of mistletoe hanging above them.  
'Er..' He laughed and waited for Mycroft to return it. But he didn't.  
He remained frozen, staring down at the older man with wide eyes that looked panicked, but also had a spark of what Greg thought - or hoped - was anticipation.

'Well, uh..' The detective cleared his throat and allowed his business front to peek through.  
'We should probably kiss. It is tradition.'  
Mycroft still did not move.  
Rolling his eyes and sighing deeply, Greg took Mycroft's face in his hands, taking a brief second to marvel at how soft the skin was, stretched over high cheekbones - and pressed their lips gently together.  
He kept the pressure soft, but insistent. Giving Mycroft a chance to back out.  
Then the pressure was being returned, hesistantly at first, but when Greg dragged his tongue across that plush bottom lip Mycroft groaned and dove in deep. He pressed a knee between the detectives legs, and held his hips tight enough to bruise. Greg moved his hands to the nape of the younger man's neck, twisting his fingers into the light ginger locks of soft hair.  
For a moment there was nothing but that kiss, two bodies pressed solidly together, the room and its inhabitants and music fading away to nothing. To Mycroft, the kiss felt like a burning fire, as though he were meant to come out of it razed to ashes.  
Honestly? He wouldn't have minded.  
A high, scandalised voice pierced through their little bubble of contentness and slammed their feet firmly into reality.  
'THIS IS WHY WE DON'T HAVE PARTIES, JOHN! LOOK AT WHAT WE HAVE JUST BEEN SUBJECTED TO! I FIGURED OUT LONG AGO THEY WERE INFATUATED WITH ONE ANOTHER, BUT I DID NOT NEED TO SEE THEM DOING.. THAT!'  
John barely stifled his laughter, snorting unattractively as Greg laced his fingers through Mycroft's.  
'Perhaps we should say our goodbyes now..' Mycroft suggested lightly, amused by his brothers outburst but only by a tenth of what he would normally feel.  
His brain was still figuring out how to function again after that kiss.  
'Back to mine?' Greg whispered in his ear, hot breath carressing the soft shell and teeth nipping at the lobe, a delicious contrast.  
His eyes darkened with lust and he nodded minutely. 

Leaving Anthea to make out with Molly viciously on the stairs, himself and Greg bid farewell and slid into the backseat of Mycroft's car, with no intentions of waiting until they arrived at Greg's flat.  
As skilled hands roamed his body and drew breathy moans from his swollen lips, Mycroft smiled to himself.

Maybe Christmas wishes do come true after all.

**Author's Note:**

> this is so bad.. I could not get inspiration at all, and then I had to go back to school after a lengthy time away due to illness, before getting sick again three days after I returned.  
> Anyway, I tried my best, and I apologize for any errors.  
> Enjoy!


End file.
